


The sickness

by thunderingsoundsofwar (SemiControledRage)



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) RPF
Genre: M/M, War Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-14
Updated: 2012-09-14
Packaged: 2017-11-14 04:53:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/511527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SemiControledRage/pseuds/thunderingsoundsofwar





	The sickness

[Original post](http://thunderingsoundsofwar.tumblr.com/post/30762605123/as-james-trudged-through-the-tall-grass-his)

      As James trudged through the tall grass his boots sank into the muddy Earth. He was lost in a marshy land and certain he was walking in circles but he kept going. He had fallen into a pool of murky water and lost not only his gun but his compass as well. He had to find someone; he hoped for an ally but if he had the upper hand, an enemy might be even better.  
      He took another step and his foot slipped. He dropped into the mud but caught himself from falling head first into the sinkhole. On his hands and knees, he crawled away from the hole to a more firm patch of Earth.   
      He started to cough; it left his chest aching and his throat and lungs burning. There was no getting around it, he was sick. He took a moment and silently prayed to God that it wasn’t IC-21 or any other mutation of it. He didn’t have any of the regular symptoms other than the cough and it had started a month after the hail of gunfire that had separated him from Michael. In that month he hadn’t been exposed to anyone with the virus, he hadn’t been exposed to anyone at all. He had been on his own.  
      Like it or not he had to admit, at least to himself, that he missed the American. He missed those reassuring moments and jokes that made this world worth living in still. He even missed those awkward silences that followed a touch that might have been just a tad too intimate. He didn’t, however, miss the fighting or the arguments or that Michael always seemed to think he knew what was best for him or how he was so often right about what James’ family would have wanted for him over what he wanted to do. Maybe he didn’t miss Michael as much as he thought he did.  
     He sat back on his heels and wiped as much of the mud off his hands as he could on the moss patch he sat on. He was dirty all over and smelled and desperately wished he could have some kind of shower, even if it was just stripping naked in the rain.  
He looked up at the sky through the trees, squinting one eye shut to block out the sun, of the few clouds there were none carried the possibility of rain. With a heavy sigh his eyes slipped shut and he escaped into a memory of one of their lasts fights.

      _“You know I’m right, James,” Michael insisted for the billionth time._  
     ”Shut up,” James hissed back as he walked into the room, “I don’t care what you have to say right now.”  
     ”You can’t become a deserter, that’s not who you are,” Michael continued as if he’d not just told him to be silent. “Even if you did, where would you go that they couldn’t find you?”  
     ”I don’t need a lecture right now,” He said as he clenched his fists at his sides, trying to keep from punching this man in the jaw. He had been talking about leaving, that’s what brought this conversation on, but he hadn’t meant it and now Michael wouldn’t drop it.  
     ”I think that’s exactly what you need right now. What has gotten into you these last few days?” Michael was staring at him as if he was a creature from another world and that’s what make him strike out.  
     His left fist collided with Michael’s jaw with enough strength behind it to hurt them both. James clutched his hand, cursing in pain and Michael cupped his jaw, anger, more than shock, twisted his once concerned expression.  
     ”Is this how it’s going to be? The brat doesn’t get his way so he lashes out,” Michael taunted as his hands curled into fists. “Well, bring it on.”

      James felt the burn in the back of his throat intensify, he barely had time to lean over before he was vomiting. He squeezed his eyes shut and dug his fingers in the mossy Earth as the vomiting turned into painful coughing.  
      He forced his eyes open when he tasted blood. Tears from the pain of the stomach acid and coughing escaped, allowing his eyes to refocus themselves. Blood mixed with saliva dripped from his lips into the puddle of black ooze he had just thrown up. His breath caught in his throat and he felt like vomiting again but he swallowed it back and licked his lips.  
      He wasn’t just sick, he was dying. 


End file.
